Joseph Lewis: Omar the Immortal

I understand now, Bakhoum-dono.

“You beat my gladiator, and he was the strongest warrior I had.” Omar smiled briefly and sadly. “So I’ll be wanting your swordsmanship, little brother, sooner or later. I hope you’ll offer your skills freely. The alternative will be… unpleasant. For you.”

Omar stood up with a groan. With great care, he slid his bright white sword back into its clay-lined scabbard on his hip, dousing both its light and its heat. He glanced about, but the alley was just as deserted as before with no indication that anyone had seen or heard what had happened. He shifted Ito Daisuke’s body against the wall and covered it with a few bits of trash lying nearby, and walked away, leaving the beautiful katana under the body to be found by whatever vermin might happen by. He also took up the chipped and now-cold seireiken that the samurai had left on the ground, and he slipped it down through a grate into the shallow sewer below.

Hm. I’ll have to remember to come back for that, one day.

As he returned to the back door of the hotel, he picked up his pipe to find the leaves still smoldering and smoking. Omar smiled, set the pipe between his lips, and went inside to bed.

The morning sun found Omar Bakhoum striding through the early press of Mazigh workmen and professional women as he angled uphill toward the airfield above the train station. The road leading up the hill plunged through a warehouse district, and on either side Omar saw teams of men moving sacks, loading wagons, and driving steam cranes to shift massive pallets of barrels and crates. He even paused to watch four men leading a massive hairy beast up the center of the lane. The animal stood twenty feet high and shambled along on its long-clawed knuckles, but it had sad cow-like eyes and a soft muzzle like a giant horse. It wore a heavy leather and iron harness tethered to a long wagon laden with massive brass pipes that must have weighed more than a ton each.

After the giant beast and its burden had passed, Omar crossed the road and passed through the tall iron gates of the airfield. He approached the small office beside the first hangar and spoke to a young lady in an orange jacket, who said that the airship he wanted was in the last hangar of the row.

He strode along the front of the hangars, peering into the first two to appreciate the massive cavern of each, though each was empty. And when he reached the doors of the third hangar, he stopped.

Omar stood there a long moment, just staring. The airship loomed above him in the shadows of the hangar like a great flying whale hovering effortlessly in the cool morning air. Its skin looked thick and wrinkled with all the layers of canvas and leather that were banded and lashed to it with brass rods and oiled ropes. Down on its belly where the craft kissed the earth he saw a beautifully crafted ship’s hull, an elegantly shaped arc of stained teak and polished brass and shining windows. Every fitting and corner was armored and riveted, and a small sort of cannon poked out from the starboard side.

He was still staring when a woman in a heavy leather jacket and canvas trousers emerged from the shadows and said, “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Captain Riuza Ngozi,” he said, sparing her a quick glance before resuming his study of the leviathan above them.

“You’ve found her.” She stuck out her hand. “And you are?”

He smiled broadly as he shook her hand. “Omar Bakhoum. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, dear lady. I trust you’ve received my last few letters? The ones about your latest expedition?”

“Ah, Mister Bakhoum, yes.” She nodded slowly as she took her hand back and hooked her thumbs in her belt. She tilted her shaved head to the side as she said, “I did receive your letters, but I wasn’t expecting to meet with you today. When did you arrive in Tingis?”

“Just last night. When I heard you were about to depart on a new expedition beyond the glaciers, I decided it was time for me to come and lend a hand myself.”

“Lend a hand?” The captain frowned. “Sir, I’ve appreciated your correspondence and your help with our translations over the last few months, but our expeditions are carefully planned long in advance. And we’re leaving tomorrow morning. I’m afraid there isn’t time for you to help with this trip.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s some small contribution I could make.” He reached into his right sleeve and pulled out a carefully folded and tied bundle of soft leather, which he handed to her.

Captain Ngozi took the bundle, removed the twine, and unfolded the leather. She hesitated, holding the soft sheet up to the light. “Where did you get this?”

“Rus.” Omar smiled and leaned around to look at the map with her. He pointed to the writing. “This is all in Rus, of course. A rather old and obscure dialect, as I understand it.”

“But this…” The captain traced the ink lines with her fingertips. “This shows the complete northern coastline of Europa. That’s impossible. It’s been buried under half a kilometer of ice for thousands of years. No one knows what it looks like anymore.”

“Sure, sure.” Omar nodded. “But once upon a time it wasn’t covered in ice, you know. The Rus folk used to live up there before the north was frozen. It took me ages to find this map. It’s positively ancient.”

“Then I don’t suppose anyone can read these markings,” the captain said.

“No, not really,” Omar said absently. “Except for me, of course. I speak half a dozen sorts of Rus. See here? This is a mountain called the Troll’s Hump, which is one ten-day from a lake called Woden’s Mirror. And a ten-day, by old Rus reckoning, was about two hundred of your kilometers.”

“This is very impressive, assuming it’s accurate.” Captain Ngozi carried the map a few steps farther from the hangar to better catch the morning light. “How long would it take you to create a translated version of this map with modern measurements?”

Omar smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I can’t say I have much interest in translating the whole map right now. Although I’m fairly certain I could be persuaded to translate a few bits and pieces of it at a time, as needed. I’m sure you catch my meaning, dear lady.”

She lowered the map to look at him. “You want to come with us?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re serious? You want to spend the next two weeks inside a little metal box with four strangers, eating cold rations and shivering through the long Europan nights while entire legions of ghosts wander the ice below us? That’s what you want to do?”

“It doesn’t sound particularly appealing, no, but I do want to see this.” He lifted the map in her hand and touched a small island at the upper edge of the leather. “This island here. The Rus call it Ysland.”

“We’ve never gone that far north before. It must be a thousand kilometers beyond our current flight plan. And besides, we’re already prepped to survey the eastern coast of this island here. Alba.” She indicated a larger island to the south of Omar’s destination.

“Well, that’ll be fine. I’m not looking to build a summer house up there. I’d just like to see whether my little Ysland is really there, and whether it’s buried in the ice. That’s all. We don’t even need to get very close. Only close enough to see whether it’s frozen over.”

The captain narrowed her eyes. “It’s at the top of the world. Why wouldn’t it be frozen over?”

Omar winked at her. “I have a theory or two about that. But for now, I’d just like to take a quick look at it.”

Riuza frowned but shrugged and nodded as she studied the Rus map. “Well, I’ll have to do the math on it, but we can probably come within sight of your island by adding just one or two extra days, depending on the weather. If that’s all you want to do, well, that may be possible. And you really want to sit in the Finch for two weeks just to take one quick look at this Ysland?”